I never updated the blog about my Firearms Permit out of sheer laziness. I wasn’t too busy or distracted–I just wasn’t interested in recapping the story into text form after I talked bile’s ear off about it last Wednesday. If there was a way to do voice posts (idea!), I would have opted in that direction. At any rate, in case there was anyone on the edge of their seat over it, the thrilling conclusion of: You have the right to bear arms. Period.
I left work early last Wednesday and headed over to the Nutley Police Department where I ended up waiting in the “lobby” before I was admitted entry to the Detectives’ Offices upstairs. There was a woman in the lobby with me, pacing and showing 8×11 black and white photos of what looked like a fallen tree to a police officer and dispatcher. She kept saying that she wasn’t able to move her car because of the tree. She spoke in broken English. I couldn’t tell what her first language was. The police officer, a hard-looking older woman, asked her if she called the police when this happened. She said yes, waved the photos back and forth, and impatiently said the cops told her they would eventually get to her but had other things to do that day. At that point, the police officer buzzed me through the main door, and I walked up to the second floor.
I had to ring a bell because the door was locked. An older man opened the door and let me in. I gave him my first name, and he said, “Oh yes, your permit. Just take a seat.” I watched him open the file cabinet and go through some papers. This was the same man that took my prints and chatted with me on the phone the week prior. He came back over after a few minutes to tell me the laminating machine was warming up and that I owed them roughly $70. When I told him I paid in September, he never questioned me and was shocked it had taken this long to get my papers together. He fingerprinted my permit and brought me to the sink, instructed me on the proper way of washing away ink (scrub with liquid soap and only use water when the ink is completely gone; the soap loses its effectiveness when mixed with water). When I finished I walked over to the laminating machine. I asked him for his name, shook his hand and thanked him for being so incredibly helpful and informative every time I called. Dennis gave me that, I’m just doing my job look and smiled. After explaining to me exactly how I should go about purchasing a firearm, we talked about gun laws again and how ineffective most police officers can be about the subject.
He agreed that bile being charged $56 twice for applying in North Arlington and shortly after moving to Fort Lee was garbage. He started telling me a story about how he received an application a while back from a guy that answered “yes” pertaining to him having a record. The explanation? The kid was in the town park after curfew when he was in high school. The same applicant also explained that he had charges brought up on him for assault with a weapon. Dennis said when he saw that, he had to dig up what the charge was. After investigating old records, he discovered that this guy was charged with firing a potato gun with his younger brother 10 years ago. When he brought this information to the Chief of Police, Dennis said he asked if they were really going to get in the way of this person’s right to defend themselves because of a childhood prank? He shook his head and said, “It’s ridiculous.” He never told me if the applicant ever received his permit.
Before I left, he assured me that when I apply for another Purchaser’s Permit, it won’t take that long at all.
The Second Amendment needs more people like Dennis in law enforcement. As much as I was annoyed that it took so long, I’m glad I got a relatively hassle-free experience out of it. And there you have it, another positive police story on the blog. Maybe next time I go back and see Dennis, I’ll ask him if he’s a member of LEAP.
